He doesn’t topple over as I wanted him to, but he hops, and that’s enough. I’m up and sprinting to the wall, which I touch just as he grabs he again.
This time when he puts his hands on me, he’s gentle. I twist in his arms and climb up him. He presses me against the wall and kisses me, a desperate plea. Don’t get hurt.
“I’ll be safe,” I promise him. “And we can try that again tomorrow. Every day until I leave.”
“Take me down over and over again until you feel confident in it, okay?”
I squeeze him tight. “Promise.”
He carries me into his room and we crawl under the blankets naked. He’s gentle there, too, until he’s not, and it’s perfect both ways.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MARCUS
THE DAY BEFORE POPPY LEAVES, there’s a staff party, and she comes with me.
“By the time we get to Jake’s wedding, we’ll be counting our dates well into the twenties at this rate,” she teases as we arrive at the picnic area.
“I should be so lucky. Besides, you may be so busy between now and then that I might not see you. I need to cram in all the goodness now.”
“I can get creative on the phone,” she whispers before kissing me on the cheek and hopping out of my truck.
I know she can. I grin and follow her.
She holds my hand as I introduce to everyone. When I get to Brianne Fischer, my young staff member who is actually responsible for the rogue Twitter account Poppy suspected me of being behind, Poppy acts like this is the first time she’s heard Brianne’s name. Bri turns pink.
My girlfriend could teach her some lessons in playing things cool. If Brianne is ever outed for real, I’m going to have to hide her on the top of a mountain to protect her.
After making the rounds for introductions, we settle into camp chairs near the grill and Poppy gets a front-row seat for sharing time, when we all confess the weirdest things we saw from park visitors over the last week or so. There’s the usual wild animal encounters, but after a few of those stories, one of the other junior rangers nudges Brianne.
“Tell them,” he says. “About…” And he waggles his eyebrows.
I groan. There’s no way this is a story any supervisor should hear.
Brianne looks at me, and I clear my throat. “Should I go and grab a beer while you tell the group?”
“Umm… Okay, well… I may have interrupted a threesome.”
Sex in the park is kind of a regular thing, but more than two people is less common. “Oh?”
She gives more graphic details about a threesome she interrupted halfway up one of our most popular hiking trail, and the tall tale they tried to spin about having a permit for recreational activities. “I told them I was pretty sure under the same area of the park service regulations was a sub-regulation about taking their picture and posting it to Facebook.”
I swear under my breath. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
“So you’re in a better than average mood, but your sense of humour is still stuck to bone-dry?” she asks innocently.
“There’s nothing wrong with my sense of humour.”
Beside me, Poppy is giggling uncontrollably.
I look at her.
“What?” She grins. “Clearly she was kidding.” She looks at Brianne. “Right?”
“Sure.” Brianne winks.
Poppy laughs harder, and I go to get that beer after all.
When I get back, Brianne is sitting in my chair, and everyone else has moved into the pavilion, setting up for dinner.
I stop beside Poppy’s chair as she says, “If you ever want to talk, off the record, you know where to find me. I promise I don’t want to out you.”
Brianne looks over at me.
Poppy shakes her head. “Oh, I wanted to out him. He’s a story. You’re part of the process. My interest in you would be strictly limited to reaching people higher up the food chain than you.”
“Hey,” I protest.
“Past tense,” she says, winking up at me.
“Don’t past tense me. I know what that means.”
“Stay nimble, Ranger Boy,” she whispers as I lean in to kiss her. “You never know when I’m going to get you.”
Oh, she’s got me all right. She’s got me good.
“She’s not exactly I pictured,” Poppy says as we’re driving home.
“Who? Brianne?”
“Yep. She’s sweet. And young. She’s really a rogue tweeter?”
“She’s tougher than she looks.” I pick up Poppy’s hand and kiss her knuckles. “A lot like you.”
“I look tough,” she protests.
I grin. “Of course.”
“You thought you could eat me alive, and you didn’t.”
“I sort of did.” A lazy, pleased smile spreads across my face and her cheeks pink up.
“That’s filthy,” she whispers.
We’re both thinking of my tongue between her legs. I want to go down on her again right fucking now. Slow and deliberate and hungry.
“I’m filthy,” I murmur instead. “Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“I know.” The hitch in her voice is my undoing.
I step on the gas. “Ten minutes to my place, Poppy.”
“Is that a promise or a threat?”
I throw my head back and laugh. This woman is everything. “Both.”
But when we get home, I find myself wanting to confess something other than dirty thoughts.
She gets to the door first. I catch her around the waist and squeeze her tight as I kiss her neck. “So…just in case you were ever in the neighborhood…” I trail my fingers down her arm and circle them around her wrist. “I was thinking you might want to be able to get into my house even if I weren’t here.”
“In case I was in the neighborhood?” She twists her head to look at me with a smile on her face.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” She laughs gently as I lift her arm and press it to the security scanner. “Like this?”
“Twenty-first century version of giving you a key.”
“Most people still just do the key thing.”
“I’m not most people. Hold still.”
I log in to my security system on my phone and add her as a user, then tell it to scan her hand to record the print.
“This is a complicated way to get my finger prints,” she whispers. “You could have taken them while I was sleeping.”
“What makes you think I didn’t?”
She laughs harder and her hand shifts.
“Hold. Still. Now I need to scan it again.”
“When am I going to be here when you aren’t?”
“Whenever you want.”
She gives me another curious look. “Really?”
The system beeps, accepting her handprint, and the door unlocks. I gesture toward it. “After you.”
“Well, that’s really nice,” she says as she opens the door. “And I didn’t get you anything.”
“You came to visit me for a week and a half. That was pretty awesome.”
She wiggles her fingers. “And now I can come back whenever I want.”
“Exactly.” I prowl after her as she moves restlessly through the house. This is our last night together for a while, and it’s put us both a little on edge.
She stops in my bedroom door, spinning around just as I catch her again.
The look we share is hot enough to incinerate all of Rifle, but I’m not ready to get naked and fuck her just yet. There’s something else I want to say.
“From the first second I saw you, I wanted you,” I tell her hoarsely. “I wanted you when you were digging into my life, I wanted you when you were yelling at me. That first day in the truck, when I thought you were seducing me for a story, I wanted to give in. You can have me however, whenever you want. I’m yours.”
“That scares me a little, in a good way,” she whispers. “I didn’t see you coming. I don’t know what to do with you.�
�
“Yeah.” I kiss her temple. “I know the feeling.”
“I’m yours, too,” she admits. “In every way. I know it’s crazy to say that, but…”
“I’m falling in love with you.” There. I said it.
She blinks at me.
I clear my throat. “Too soon?”
She bursts into tears. “No. God, I’m going to miss you so much.”
I pull her into my arms. “Good?”
She nods into my chest and mumbles something I can’t make out. I kiss the top of her head and she mumbles again.
“Baby, I can’t hear you.”
“I’m leaving my heart here with you,” she says, lifting her face again. “Just so, you know, you can finish that whole falling in love thing while I’m gone.”
I pick her up and she twists her arms around my neck as I kiss her. Her mouth tastes like lemonade and happiness, and I lose myself in her.
I may have her heart here, but she’s taking mine with her, too.
God damn it. We should have seen this coming, but even if we did, I don’t think either of us would want it any other way.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
POPPY
November
Portland, Maine
I’M in Maine with three other members of the Record’s reporting team for a contentious candidate debate leading up to a special election called to replace the junior senator for that state.
We aren’t alone in being here. All the national media has descended, along with protestors, supporters for both candidates in the election, and a good number of general gawkers.
In addition to doing background for our story, I’ve been live tweeting all day. First outside the suburban arena where the debate is being held, and now inside.
There’s definitely a hostile energy in the cavernous space. I tweet out pictures of the crowd as I move through it. There’s a cordoned-off press area, and I wait until I get there before clipping my badge to my chest.
James and Guiliana are having a spirited discussion about how long the civil debate will last before it devolves into a shouting match. I take up a position on the outside of Guiliana and do what I’ve been doing a lot of lately. I listen. First to the reporters around me—more of the same argument, plus lots of grumping about the bullshit early timing we had to make in order to get our press credentials.
Then I step as far as I can get to the side and try to listen to the crowd, but it’s hard, because the music is loud and the people around us aren’t talking.
I’m tempted to head back into the throngs of people, but there’s something about that negative energy gives me pause. Maybe today isn’t the day to dive deep into what people are feeling.
Boundaries are healthy, Marcus would say.
He’s going to be proud of me when I tell him I stuck to the press area. Bah. Being one of three dozen people back here isn’t great reporting, though.
My Twitter mentions are getting busy, which makes it impossible to find responses I need to reply to. Crap. I tighten up that filter, then tweet another update that we’re fifteen minutes out from the start of the debate.
When I look up from my phone after doing that, there’s a guy standing right in front of me on the other side of roped off press pen.
He’s holding a phone, too, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking at the Twitter app.
I can’t step back because there’s a camera guy right behind me, so I move to the side.
Dude mirrors me. His expression twists in pure anger. “Lügenpresse,” he sneers, and I force myself not to recoil. Lying press. Great, an actual neo-Nazi.
Despite their virulent presence on social media, these kinds of protesters aren’t everywhere. And we didn’t get any heads-up that we’d be expecting them today.
“How are you enjoying the debate?” I ask him, proud of myself for keeping my voice calm. I slide my hand into my pocket and flick the bluetooth interceptor Marcus gave me ages ago. I’ve been using it a lot lately, and quietly distributed them to other reporters, too.
Apparently Toby is thrilled they’re useful.
Right now, I’m grateful for the device, because Angry Dude slaps at the phone and swears at me, a string of words I can’t publish in The Record and wouldn’t be interesting enough anyway.
This asshole isn’t a story, he’s a distraction. But if he gets ahold of my phone, that’s bad news.
I jerk my hand back, but not quick enough, and he’s got me by the wrist all of a sudden. My phone tumbles out of my hand, landing on the concrete floor with a sharp smack.
Shit, shit, shit…
I try to look for it, but he’s got a tight grip on my arm.
“Let go of me,” I hiss through gritted teeth. “Get your hand off my body.”
“Hey,” someone yells, and I can feel the heat of the camera lights turn my way.
Aw, crap. I don’t want to be the story. I hear Marcus’s voice in my head. Angry assholes expect you to go one way. Go the other. Move in, twist toward them, drop low. I step forward, my mind spinning as I try to figure out where his fingers end, where the weak spot is.
This isn’t anything like how we’ve practiced over the last few months. This is terrifying, and I’m shaking as I turn my hand in.
The asshole’s grip tightens.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He sneers as he jabs his other hand out, grabbing my hip. I can smell sweat on his skin, see the pores on his face, and the hard, sharp anger in his eyes.
He’s pissed at me. He doesn’t even know me, but it doesn’t matter.
I represent all that’s wrong in his world, and he’s going to take it out on me. His grip tightens and I cry out despite myself. It really hurts. But as I buckle inward, I realize he’s left his body wide open.
On pure adrenaline, I jerk my knee up, making contact with his groin. At his startled, wincing gasp, I jerk my hands together and drive them up his body, slamming the heels of my hands into the underside of his jaw.
He staggers back, and I do the same, slamming into one of my colleagues in the press.
“Sorry, sorry,” I gasp, twisting around. Shit, James is on the ground.
He waves his hand. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”
I nod roughly as he hops back up. “Sure. My wrist hurts.” I rub at the reddened skin there and wince as I hit a tender spot. I turn to glare at the neo-Nazi as he’s being hauled off the ground by security.
“Poppy, what did he say to you?”
I turn around and am blinded by a camera’s light. “He called me Lügenpresse,” I say, finding my voice. “That was it. I asked him how he was enjoying the debate, and then he grabbed me. It’s over.”
“Will you press charges?”
Jesus Christ. We’re vultures, even when it’s one of our own. I give the guy asking the questions—a local CBS affiliate reporter, not someone from the national circuit—a faint smile. “I was assaulted while doing my job. Whether or not that was criminal is a question for the local police.” I hold up my wrist and wriggle it. “I’m not injured. Just shaken up. I’m fine. Has anyone seen my phone?”
A security guard tries to stop me as I duck under the rope barrier.
“Excuse me, I’m looking for my phone.”
“Ma’am, you’ll need to stay where you are until the police get here.”
“Why? Did I do anything wrong? I was just protecting myself and now I can’t find—”
“Your phone. Yes, ma’am, I understand. However—”
I suck in a frustrated breath. Okay. Fine. This is why I use that bluetooth device. “Gotcha. I’ll just wait right here while people trample all over my phone.”
He gives me a sympathetic look, and after I return to the press side of the barrier, he looks around, but my phone is gone.
The police arrive a few minutes later, and I’m taken to a room elsewhere in the arena to give a statement. They offer to take me to the hospital, but I really am fine.
We’re almost done when the
re’s a loud banging on the door.
I jump. Okay, maybe I’m not completely fine.
One of the officers opens the door, and as soon as I hear the concerned voice on the other side, I stand up. “That’s my boyfriend,” I say. “Let him in.”
“We have a few more questions.”
“He wasn’t here before, and—” Marcus shoves the door open, and I shrug. “He’s not going to take no for an answer, so…”
“Excuse me, sir, you’ll need to wait outside.”
Marcus shakes his head. “Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. Why wasn’t there a police presence near the press area? Why was there only a single rope barrier? You go and get your supervisor. Tell him I have some serious questions for him, and if he doesn’t want to answer to me, he’ll be answering to the governor within the hour.”
Hello, pissed-off billionaire boyfriend.
I give him a wide-eyed look. I’m fine, I try to convey.
He ignores that and glares hard at the cop. “Go. Now.”
The cop goes.
“That wasn’t necessary,” I whisper under my breath as Marcus hugs me.
“I’m glad I was on the east coast already.” He kisses the top of my head. “I flew in this morning for a suit fitting in New York with the guys.”
The wedding is next weekend, and Marcus has mentioned he has other business in New York, too. I was going to fly down in two days.
Something tells me he’s going to want me to fly back with him tonight, and I’m not likely to argue. It’s not like I can objectively report on today anyway.
“Have you had anything to eat or drink since it happened?”
“No. I’m not hungry.”
“Good to have something anyway to combat the shock.” He raises his voice. “You. Get her some juice. Cranberry if you can find it, it’s her favorite.”
“Stop bossing around the cops,” I whisper. “And how did you know what happened?”
“It’s all over the news.” He hesitates. “But I was already on my way here. There was chatter I didn’t like on the alt-right forums.”
“About tonight?”
Personal Disaster (Billionaire Secrets Book 3) Page 9